


Gray

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depression, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Soulmates, References to Sex, misplaced feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: In another life, Youngjae has the bravery to be himself, and Jaebeom has the clarity to see past Jinyoung. In this life, however, they will limit themselves forever.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Gray

  
Jinyoung has always been better. 

It’s not up to him to relate that to anyone, he’s just simply _better_. Smarter. Faster. Sharper. Ever since the early days, _Jinyoung picks up routines faster_ turns to _Jinyoung comes across better on camera_ turns to _Jinyoung gets more job opportunities_ turns to, turns to, turns to . . .

Step 1: It’s two young boys, they know nothing other than each other. Eyes in tough situations, silent conversations: _where you go, I will follow._

Step 2: Jinyoung figures out how to love himself before anyone else even thinks about it.

Step 3: Jaebeom has a fall from grace but Jinyoung is _better_ so he does _not._

There’s more to it, now, and that’s the way the tide moves. More staff. More exposure. More _work._ Work that goes out into the world and when people hate it, Jaebeom hates it. But Jinyoung is _better_ so he does _not._

Jinyoung speaks only in riddles. _Gray looks like dying_ , he says. _Your hands are scarred from touching yourself_ , he says. He’ll never say exactly what he means, because in the early days and maybe even now, the only person he needs to understand him is Jaebeom. And Jaebeom _does_ , somehow, as though his thoughts are his own. Cryptic and enigmatic as Jinyoung may be, Jaebeom knows him, feels him, loves him like no other.

Undoubtedly it’s a bad idea to fall in love so soon. But Jaebeom can’t help it; Jinyoung is everything he wishes he could be. Prettier. Cleaner. Kinder. Easier to love. There’s something alluring about that. It’s like he holds all the secrets in the world, and if you just take a second to get through that perfectly poised stature, that perfectly cloudy eminence, you’ll unlock the key to loving yourself, too.

There’s a funny thing they say about family, and it’s that you know a person is family if you can tell who they are by the way their footsteps sound coming up the stairs. If you know someone’s footsteps, you know where they are, where they’re going, and most importantly, where they’ve come from. Jaebeom doesn’t make many footsteps of his own anymore, but he recognizes Jinyoung’s; he knows exactly where he’s come from, and where he is going, because Jaebeom is going there, too. 

_Where you go, I will follow_.

* * *

Jaebeom hears the footsteps before the door swings open, and therefore, it’s Jinyoung.

“This room is disgusting.” It’s been this way for a while, too. To follow chronologically: the walls are painted gray _and then_ Jaebeom slips up. He’ll accept the story no other way, though others will tell him that he turned gray long before the walls did.

Jinyoung had helped him paint the walls, in fact. They’d made a day of it: Jinyoung standing closely behind Jaebeom, hand over hand over paintbrush, guiding each other closely, spreading gray all over the place. That was the day Jinyoung had said that _gray looks like dying_. It’s more accurate now, coupled with the gray bedding and the overall gray of Jaebeom himself. Gray _is_ dying, and Jaebeom is too. 

And now its piles and piles of clothes and dishes, and all Jaebeom knows is that he can hide there forever, tormented by the image in his head. Every time he closes his eyes it’s the same thing, flashing in a different sequence, never quite clear enough to put the pieces together, but something along the lines of long fingers digging into soft shoulders, clear pale skin, dark blue jeans, wet eyes, and something more.

“Are you getting up today?” 

“No.” Jaebeom turns over in bed. His neck is so gray, and if the grease of his hair and skin aren’t enough of an indication, Jinyoung puts his guess at about three days of this. It’s no record.

“We’re going out this weekend,” Jinyoung says. “Everyone wants you to come.” Jaebeom knows there’s only one person who really wants this, but he’ll play along because he knows Jinyoung loves riddles so maybe he can love him, too. “So you have to be up by then.” In the silence that ensues, the TV show on a discarded laptop plays lowly, begging for someone to pay attention to it, guide it, and love it. Jaebeom lifts his head up from his pillows a bit, and he looks uglier than ever. He holds his blanket up on one side, and Jinyoung says _no_ with his eyes. _There is no time for this, today_. He makes a move to leave.

“Wait,” Jaebeom calls. Jinyoung shakes, looking into his gray eyes. _Say it. Say it_. But he won’t, because the problem with Jaebeom is that feelings are rarely heard and even more seldom seen. Jinyoung will crucify him for it daily, but the agony drives the attitude. 

“What is it?” Jinyoung loves riddles.

“Can you shut my door?”

* * *

Sleeping with Jinyoung had made sense, at the time. They were so young, barely introduced into the real world. They weren’t that young, actually, it was just around the time that they painted Jaebeom’s walls gray and around the time Jaebeom walked in on something he shouldn’t have. 

But it was also around the time of their careers really taking off, and it was a time of fear, nerves, adrenaline; a plunge into the unknown and no way of dealing with it, so far removed from reality. Family, friends, partners.

So it made sense, at the time, especially for them to keep it in the group. It was risky, given their position, but it made even less sense to hide it. 

And really there wasn’t much to hide. They were never _dating_ officially, as much as Jaebeom would have liked to. It was nothing. Jinyoung would come into Jaebeom’s room, they’d go at it, and it would end, just like that. No talking, no discussion, no working through the feelings that got them there in the first place.

There were no feelings, for Jinyoung, because he’s better. But they were there for Jaebeom, always have been. Mind, body, and soul, they were connected, but not in the way Jaebeom wished they were. They were at the frontier of dealing with their fears, together, and acting out, sneaking around was fun-- meaningless--and it resolved nothing.

It stops when Jinyoung gets a boyfriend. It’s someone from home, someone he’s known much longer than Jaebeom, someone he can trust. _Your heart is too warm for this. Yeah, I get it._ And Jaebeom does get it. It’s safer this way, anyway. No worries of being too touchy in public, no fear of letting some incriminating comment slip in front of the other members.

 _The others._ That’s its own issue. It was don’t-ask-don’t-tell, for them, and stopping may have been for the best considering especially how poorly some of them had reacted to it. If it wasn’t willing indifference it was overwhelming anxiety, and in one case, blatant disapproval.

And so it’s for the best, even still. Jinyoung has a boyfriend, and Jaebeom has the others. The line between friends and lovers blurs, and Jaebeom thinks they can live on that line forever.

* * *

Choi Youngjae is unsettling. This much is fact.

First impressions can be surprisingly accurate, and judging by the way Youngjae acts compared to what he says, it matters that he’s unsettling from the very beginning. He’s nothing like Jinyoung, for one thing, and that’s a point of tension right off the bat. 

He’s far too much of a straight shooter for them to get along; always one to speak his mind and avoid riddles. The bottom line is that his words are _honest_ , in the kindest way possible. And still Jaebeom doesn’t understand him. Sleeping with Jinyoung had made Youngjae shut down, avoiding Jinyoung outright and _I think you should get some help,_ he might have said.

It’s the _gay thing_ , he calls it. Youngjae doesn’t like the _gay thing_ , and he doesn’t want to see it, and he doesn’t want to hear it. Jaebeom gets it. It’s not his world. Don’t-ask-don’t-tell can only work if both ends are willing to keep quiet, but Youngjae’s a straight shooter.

Jaebeom knows about Youngjae’s little secret before Youngjae even seems to know about it himself. It’s the way he blushes every time he talks to Jaebeom, the lingering glances, the stuttering, even over-complimenting. It’s not much of a secret; he can spot Youngjae’s little crush on him from the day they’d met. It’s a bit cute, really, but it makes Jaebeom worried, and it’s at the top of the list of things he doesn’t understand.

In another life, Youngjae has the bravery to be himself, and Jaebeom has the clarity to see past Jinyoung. In this life, however, they will limit themselves forever.

Jinyoung exists in public, and Youngjae very much does not, and that’s the principal difference between them. _Gr_ _ay looks like dying_ , Jinyoung says. _I think you should get some help_ , Youngjae says. And that’s where their line is drawn. As honest as Youngjae is about other people, talking about himself just ends the conversation.

Where Jinyoung opens doors, Youngjae closes them. And he lives behind closed doors, forever.

* * *

“Are you going to come lay with me today?”

“Are you afraid of asking for what you want?” There is time for riddles, today, and this is not a challenge. Jaebeom ignores Jinyoung, just reaches up and pulls him by the arm, down, down, down into the bed so that he might disappear into the sheets, just as Jaebeom wishes he could do himself. They lay comfortably, briefly, and Jinyoung can tell that Jaebeom has finally showered. He puts his face in Jaebeom’s hair and inhales, and it smells far too fresh for the room.

Face to face, Jaebeom reaches down and out and holds Jinyoung’s hand, intertwining them as he likes to do, and Jinyoung touches Jaebeom’s cheek with the other. Momentarily, the gray fades to white; Jinyoung touches his hair, face, neck, petting him as he would an animal taking care of its young. And when Jaebeom picks his head up from Jinyoung’s chest, Jinyoung reaches over and shuts Jaebeom’s laptop, and Jaebeom leans up and kisses him.

It is important that Jaebeom kisses Jinyoung, and that Jinyoung does not kiss him back. Everyday, this is routine: Jaebeom kissing Jinyoung fully, and Jinyoung letting him without ever kissing back. He doesn’t move his lips, doesn’t put anything into it other than an unjudging attitude and a soft, yet imposing touch.

Jaebeom pulls away briefly, kisses Jinyoung one more time, then touches his upper thigh, watching his shorts ride up as he rubs up his hip and then in. Jinyoung removes his hand and whispers against his lips.

“Remember this isn’t what it used to be.” Jaebeom rolls onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Kiss me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Just pretend I’m him,” Jaebeom says, and Jinyoung pities him. As much as he likes to play games, it’s not easy to see a grown man play them with himself. 

“You’re so sad.”

“He knows you sleep with me.” Jinyoung rolls Jaebeom over onto his side, so they’re spooning now, Jaebeom’s back to Jinyoung’s chest. He places a hand over Jaebeom’s own, resting heavily on his abdomen as he did when he helped paint the walls gray. He’s painting them, still.

“Don’t say it like that,” he whispers in his ear.

“He knows that you kiss me.”

“He knows that _you_ kiss _me_.”

“I love you.” Jinyoung sighs, and Jaebeom turns over once again, so they’re face to face. The constant changing of positions is nothing compared to the unrest concentrated in his soul.

“You don’t even say it as if you believe it. And I don’t, either.” Jaebeom lets his body fall onto his back one final time, Jinyoung still on his side, looking at him silently. Feeling eyes on him, Jaebeom pulls the blanket up over his face, and in the darkness the image resurfaces: loud music and the wet sound of kissing. Tattoos and a hand sliding down, down, down.

Jinyoung pulls the blanket down off of Jaebeom’s face, and though Jaebeom’s eyes are shut tightly, a tear escapes and settles on his cheek.

“There’s someone out there,” he says, and Jaebeom cries harder. “It’s not worth crying over.”

* * *

Several months after his walls are painted gray, Jaebeom enters his bedroom to find a book open on his desk. It’s not a book he’s ever owned, at least not from what he can recall, and while there are few avid readers amongst the members, it doesn’t make sense for it to be in Jaebeom’s room.

Before going to close the book, a highlighted portion at the bottom of the page jumps out at him. Clearly someone has left it there, and it’s a stupid game, but he’ll bite. Two lines highlighted. And they read: 

_Hey, by the way, what’s killing you?_

_And, by the way, what’s it doing to you?_

* * *

In the morning, Jaebeom comes downstairs for the first time in a while. He sees Youngjae before Youngjae sees him, and he pours coffee to avoid his eyes.

“Oh,” he hears from behind him. He turns; Youngjae’s cheeks are red. There are limits, now, to what he can say. “Good morning.”

“Hey.” And then there is silence. At the table, Youngjae sits and eats his own breakfast, playing with his phone. It’s awkward, briefly, and Jaebeom feels bad about coming down. Youngjae is bothered too; his face is still hot.

“We’re all going out this weekend,” Youngjae says. Jaebeom looks up into his eyes, now aware that there is no way out but through. “You should come.”

“I know. Jinyoung told me.” Youngjae deflates a bit when Jaebeom says it. The perks of being honest. “I’ll try to make it.”

Jinyoung comes through the front door, then, carrying a shopping bag. He smiles between Jaebeom and Youngjae when he sees them talking, meeting eyes with Jaebeom and saying _Don’t blame yourself_ with his eyes. He disappears upstairs, and when Jaebeom looks back, Youngjae is looking down at his food, speaking out loud.

“Are you guys still . . . ?”

“He says he doesn’t love me.” Jaebeom has no shame. What’s the point? There’s nothing to lose, at this point, and he knows the _gay thing_ is more of a _Youngjae thing_. They settle into their seats, letting the tension build because it’s fun that way.

“How are you feeling?” Youngjae asks suddenly, and the past is forgotten.

“Not so good. Still not so good.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“You know.” He shrugs, as if talking about a sweater. “What does it feel like?” Jaebeom breathes in, and at this point he sees a quick flash: dark lashes, red lips, and then in an instant it’s gone. He recalibrates.

“Do you remember what you asked me a while ago?” Youngjae knows what he’s referring to before he continues. “When you asked me how I can live like this? Sleeping through life, obsessed with him, and everything?”

Notoriously, alcohol makes Youngjae a little bit mean. They all know it, and without saying anything, it’s usually best for them to guide the bottles away from Youngjae’s hand, because an honest heart makes a brutal spirit. It wasn’t a party, just dinner with the members, which may have been best. But it’s still awkward when Youngjae drinks a bit too much. 

_You’re going to follow him until he dies_ , he had told Jaebeom, as if Jinyoung wasn’t right in front of them. _And then you’re going to kill yourself._ The other members started shifting eyes at this point, looking for a way to neutralize. Jaebeom can recall seeing one person grab Youngjae’s glass, another calling out to the waiter and asking for the check.

 _Jokes on you,_ Jaebeom had replied _, I’m already dead_ , because he had something to prove. By the time Youngjae had told Jaebeom to _get over yourself_ , Jinyoung had already excused himself from the table.

It was a stupid fight, obviously, but it was never truly resolved, like so many of their conflicts. The morning after saw a brief _sorry about last night_ and an even quicker _don’t worry about it. You were right_.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“It feels like in-between.” Youngjae quirks a brow. “It’s like that book, you know? The girl gets killed, and then she spends the rest of eternity in purgatory, not dead but not alive. Not in heaven but not in hell.”

“She’s definitely dead.”

“Right.”

“She got killed.”

“Right.”

“Well,” Youngjae says, leaning forward on the table. “Then who killed you?”

_And by the way, Jaebeom, what’s it doing to you?_

* * *

“He’s still in love with you,” Jinyoung says, and it sounds strange coming out of his mouth. Jaebeom takes a second to look for the riddle, but he can’t find anything.

“What?”

“You never gave him an answer. You knew he liked you, and he knew you knew, and you never did anything about it.”

“Why are you talking to me like this?”

“You’re blaming yourself so that he won’t.” And now this is more like it. 

“Why are you pitying him when you’re doing the exact same thing to me?” 

“I just want to help you.”

“You are helping me. By being here.”

“You’re so gray.”

 _Gray looks like dying,_ Jaebeom remembers. _Gray looks like sex._

* * *

  
It’s a door opening, too fast, no warning, that sets it all off. It’s late, and the music coming from the room is too loud and without thinking, Jaebeom whips open the door, and he regrets it the second that he does, because it’s something that burns into his mind forever.

It’s Youngjae, on the bed, and someone else on top of him. He can’t see who it is, doesn’t want to know in that moment, and never wants to know for the rest of his life. The music is so loud, and in the brief moment he looks inside, he can see everything. The first thing is the flat expanse of the man’s pale skin, and at least he still has jeans on. The man’s fingers are digging into Youngjae’s shoulders from above, morphing the tattoos there. Youngjae’s own hands slide down those dark jeans and when he breaks away from kissing the guy, he meets eyes suddenly with Jaebeom. His eyes are wet, and that’s the last thing Jaebeom notes before he registers what’s really happening.

“Shit,” Youngjae says, and the door knocks shut. Outside in the hallway, Jaebeom freezes, willing himself not to vomit but doesn’t know why he should. It’s _Youngjae_ , it’s the _gay thing_ , it’s the _crush_. It’s all of it. And above all, it’s the fact that it looked _good_.

It’s weird to see Youngjae this way. It’s weird to see behind the doors he keeps so tightly closed at all times, weird to see him all heavy and hot and though Jaebeom’s open enough about his own sex life, it never occurred to him that Youngjae has one of his own. He doesn’t like it.

And for the rest of the night, and perhaps the rest of his life he lives in that image, blazing through his mind in a disjointed montage of poison. He lets his mind fill in the blanks.

* * *

Being at the bar with the guys is awkward, it’s clear from the start. Jaebeom doesn't _belong_ anymore.

They don’t all live together anymore, and now the only people able to pick up on what’s really going on in the house is the three who still live there, so as much as Jaebeom knows they _talk_ , they definitely don’t _know_. It’s the way they do double takes, the way they hesitate to greet him, the way the room turns into a funeral the second he joins the group. It hurts, of course it does, because these are supposed to be his brothers, but somehow, they don’t know his footsteps when he’s coming toward them. They don’t seem to know him at all.

The only person who doesn’t treat him like a shadow is Youngjae, of course. Jaebeom can run and hide and stay closed off in the corner but Youngjae is always there. 

It hurts: Jinyoung has brought his boyfriend tonight, and the gray fades to black. 

Jaebeom watches from a table as the group goes out and dances together, and watches especially closely how Jinyoung dances with this man. He’s bigger than Jaebeom. Stronger. Taller. Manlier. He’s clearly _better_ , just like Jinyoung. He supposes it’s what he deserves. But understanding doesn’t stop him from watching; he watches their hips sway as their jeans rub and their arms grab and it looks good, at first. Until it doesn’t.

The longer he watches the less he likes it. Jinyoung is wearing light wash jeans and his boyfriend is wearing a black sweater and he’s tan and firm and somehow, it’s not quite doing it anymore. 

And maybe it’s something to do with the perversion of watching this go down, anyway, but Jinyoung knows he is watching. Of course he does. But Jaebeom knows he’s being watched, as well. And he turns to his right and he sees Youngjae standing there and again, the past is forgotten.

“He’s not that great,” Youngjae says, and Jaebeom flicks his brows. “It’s all in your head.” He’s meddling, as he so often does, but he’s also not aggrandizing himself, and when he looks at Youngjae closely, long and hard for a moment, there’s no bar and there’s no Jinyoung and there’s probably no hope, but he sees red lips and dark lashes and he sees _what’s killing him_ and suddenly, he comes to a self-compromising realization.

Youngjae looks pretty in the bar lights.

He leans closer, and before Youngjae can hide his face in his cup, Jaebeom kisses him gently on the cheek and lets the music drown his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Il primo (quasi) happy ending che abbia mai scritto, cazzo.  
> Merito un premio.


End file.
